Mother Mary
by StockyardSyndrome
Summary: Peter and Johnny unintentionally share a few memories from their childhood. They just don't realize that's what's happened. Originally posted on my AO3 account under the same name


Johnny sat up slowly, trying to drive back the haze clouding his mind enough to figure out where the heck he was and what the heck had happened. He let out a low, involuntary groan, and immediately someone was leaning over him, with a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"Take it easy, kid. Yer fine, ya just need ta sit a minute." The large, orange figure then turned and called to someone just out of Johnny's sight, "Reed! Sue! He's up!" Johnny's vision cleared just in time to see Ben move back, and Reed and Sue hurry closer to check him over.

"Nice of you to re-join us, Torchy," said a familiar voice to Johnny's left. He turned to see Spider-Man, his best friend, sitting in the bed to his left. It was then that Johnny finally realized that he was in the Baxter Building's small medical ward, lying in a bed of his own.

His head was finally mostly clear, so he took a moment to mentally check over his family. Reed, Sue and Ben seemed uninjured, and Spidey also looked fine, though he probably wasn't completely unharmed if he had agreed to lie down in the med bay. Which left Johnny still wondering, "What the heck happened?" He remembered Spidey showing up to help Reed and Sue with something in the lab. He remembered going in to watch them (and maybe just to try and bug them a little bit) when he got bored. He remembered Sue calling out to him, telling him to move… And then Spidey tackled him, and that's where his memories ended.

"You wandered directly through the middle of an experiment we were conducting," Reed answered.

"In hindsight, maybe putting the most dangerous part right next to the door was a bad idea," remarked Spidey.

"Especially without putting up some kind of warning sign. Are you alright, Johnny?" asked Sue with a look of concern.

"Yeah, I feel fine now," was Johnny's honest answer. The dizziness and confusion had already faded, though something still felt a bit off. "What the heck did that thing do, anyways?"

"It was a prototype of a device to help improve human memory and recall. You're lucky it was on such a low setting; without proper protection, it can give someone a pretty nasty shock. In fact, it still could have done some significant damage, if Spider-Man hadn't pushed you out of the way when he did."

Johnny finally turned to address his friend. "Thanks, man. Are you okay?"

"No problem. And as I keep trying to tell your family, I'm fine . The shock just dazed me a little bit. It wasn't even enough to knock me out or anything, so I really don't need any medical attention ," he replied with a pointed look at Sue. Johnny was very familiar with Spider-Man's stubborn aversion to medical care of any sort, but he was even more familiar with Sue's iron will and dogged insistence on making sure all of her loved ones were safe and healthy. Johnny was always secretly glad when she turned her persistent care in Spidey's direction; heaven knew the man needed a bit of TLC every once in a while.

"It never hurts to check," Sue returned, shooting Spidey a look that was only slightly matronizing. "But as long as you're both feeling well, I guess everything's probably alright. But definitely let me or Reed know if anything seems off, especially anything involving your memories. Remember, we haven't done much testing into the device's effects yet, so can't be exactly sure of all the possible responses and side effects to it." Both boys nodded their agreement.

"Well, it's getting late, and if I'm not back soon, my roommate won't let me hear the end of it for weeks. I'll be back tomorrow morning so we can keep testing the prototype," Spidey said as he climbed out of bed and made his way over to the window.

"Alright, Spider-Man. Take care of yourself, and definitely call us if you need help or notice anything off," commanded Sue.

"See ya tomorrow, Spidey," said Johnny.

"See ya," Spidey called back. Then, with a grin (or at least they thought it was a grin; it was hard to tell through the mask) and a two-fingered salute, he swung himself out the window and was gone.

* * *

That night, Peter had one of the most vivid dreams he'd ever had in his life (aside from the nightmares that often woke him with a jolt in the wee hours of the morning and left him in a cold sweat for hours).

A tall woman with short blonde hair stood with her back toward him. Peter looked around to see an unfamiliar kitchen, complete with a child's drawing and a spelling test marked with an 'A' and a 'Good Job!' sticker stuck to the refrigerator with colorful magnets. He couldn't see what she was doing, since she was facing away from him, but it sounded as though the woman was washing something at the kitchen sink.

He could hear a radio playing in the background; the song sounded Latin American. A women's choir began to sing in a language that Peter quickly identified as Portuguese. It took a moment for him to realize that the most prominent soprano voice was not, in fact, coming from the radio, but rather from the woman in front of him. Her clear, sweet voice seemed to soar, and Peter felt himself lean against the doorway to listen. So enraptured was he that it didn't occur to him to be concerned about how odd the whole situation was, standing in the doorway to this stranger's kitchen, where everything seemed safe and comfortable, even though it had a way of making him feel small, like a child.

Peter's Portuguese was barely passing, just what he had picked up from neighbors and people on the street, but he was glad for what little knowledge he had as he tried to translate the lyrics of "Nesta Rua" as the woman sang on, unaware of his presence.

He made out something about a garden called Loneliness, and an angel who lived there who had stolen the singer's heart. After that it started to get a little unclear, but he didn't have time to puzzle it out any further, as he felt someone approach from behind and ruffle his hair. He turned to see it was a very, very tall man with light brown hair, a thick mustache, and kind, gentle eyes. Or maybe he wasn't all that tall, as Peter realized with a jolt that he himself was much smaller than normal. He couldn't have been any bigger than the average seven-year-old. The man had already continued on into the kitchen, wrapping an arm around the woman's waist and kissing her affectionately.

"Why do you always listen to this station, darling?" asked the man teasingly with a gesture towards the radio. "You don't even understand the words."

The woman turned to give him a bright smile. Peter dimly noticed that her high cheekbones and big blue eyes resembled Johnny Storm's.

"I understand the feeling. I understand enough to know that the music is beautiful," she replied, practically radiating warmth as she set aside the colander full of berries she'd been rinsing.

"Not as beautiful as you." And with the man's sappy reply, the scene began to shift. **Definitely a dream, then,** Peter thought as he tried to regain his bearings. **Weird, though. It feels so real.**

Now he found himself in what looked like someone's living room, with pale green wallpaper and a positively ghastly bright yellow carpet. He was just starting to take in the picture on the wall, a slightly abstract representation of some bright green flowers that were somehow only slightly at odds with the rest of the colors of the room, when he noticed the same woman's voice coming from just down that hallway. This time, he recognized the song she was singing. Buddy Holly's "True Love Ways" had been a favorite of Aunt May's for as long as he could remember, but this woman's rendition was infinitely better than hers. Peter loved his aunt more than just about anything else in the world, but a singer she was not.

He followed the lovely, melodious sounds back to their source, just down the hallway to a bedroom with the door standing open. The woman stopped singing and whirled around, but relaxed immediately when she saw him.

"Oh, sweetie, you startled me!" she said with an exhale that some might have classified as a laugh. "Be a dear and bring me my gloves, will you?" She gestured to a pair of white gloves on a small table near the door. He obediently brought them over to her.

"Here," he said in an unfamiliar voice much higher than his normal one was.

"Thank you, dear." She began to pull them on. "I overheard you talking earlier. Are you really planning to try out for the school play?" She asked with an encouraging look.

"I don't know. I haven't decided yet," Peter felt himself answer. For the first time, he fully realized that he wasn't consciously controlling his own actions or words. It was as though his body knew exactly what it was supposed to do, and therefore didn't stop to get his actual consent before doing it. Ordinarily, this would've freaked him out a bit, but he was willing to just go with it for now. After all, this was a dream, and dreams tended to be weird like that.

"Well, whichever you choose, I know it'll be the right decision. I'm very proud of you, dear." Her warm countenance and loving smile seemed to fill the whole room, or at least Peter's entire vision.

"Mary! Hurry up, or we'll be late!" called a voice from down the hall. It sounded like the man from before.

"Coming, Franklin darling!" the woman called back, and she and Peter made their way back to the living room. The man, wearing a blue suit, was waiting with a brown coat draped over his left arm and a hat clutched in his right hand. The woman, apparently Mary, slipped on a red coat with black accents, and carefully placed a matching hat atop her head. In the meantime, Peter found himself standing next to a blonde teenage girl. He tried to turn his head to look at her, but found he couldn't. Apparently, whatever was in control of his actions now had decided that getting a good look at the girl's face was not important right at this moment. Peter was only mildly annoyed.

As Mary picked up a white handbag, she turned to Peter and the girl. "The medical society is giving a dinner in your father's honor, children! We won't be back 'till late!" She sounded excited. Peter found it was somewhat infectious, even though he was still confused. This whole scenario was pretty weird, even though it had to be the most normal, domestic dream he'd ever had. It was still extremely vivid and lifelike, and he still had no idea who these people were.

The man turned to the girl and asked, "Will you cook dinner for Johnny, Sue dear?" **Wait, Johnny? Sue?** thought Peter.

Peter's head finally cooperated in turning towards the girl so he could get a good look at her. Sure enough, she did look very much like a younger version of Susan Storm, wearing a plain royal blue shirt and plaid forest green skirt, clutching a pastel pink notebook to her chest and twirling a pencil in her fingers. "Of course, Daddy! Gosh, we're so proud of you!" she said in reply.

Peter felt his mouth open, as though he were about to say something—

—but at that moment, he woke up, and the dream ended. Peter blearily looked over at his alarm clock and begrudgingly dragged himself out of bed. Man, that was a weird dream, he thought as he brushed his teeth. He pulled on his costume, adjusted his web-shooters, and swung out the window of his bedroom before Harry could try to come in and talk to him. He still had to get to Baxter in time to help finish testing that prototype, and he wanted to have time to grab something cheap beforehand for breakfast.

* * *

Johnny usually had trouble remembering his dreams once he woke up. Even his nightmares were usually gone from his mind within minutes. But this morning, he could still recall what he'd been dreaming about with startling clarity. It hadn't been so much of a coherent dream as a series of brief, unconnected scenes all centered around a certain woman, who felt familiar even though Johnny was sure he'd never seen her before.

She was a little on the short side, with sharp cheekbones and dark hair that went just past her chin. Johnny could still see her deep, dark brown eyes that bordered on black and hinted that they might just hold all the secrets of the universe.

In most of the scenes, Johnny had been an infant or a toddler, which weirded him out a little. But the woman's presence had made it pretty easy to forget about that. It had been cool, calm, and soothing like a cold compress or a damp cloth on a fevered forehead.

Most of the scenes had been brief, inconsequential little domestic moments.

Sitting on the woman's lap in a busy airport. Holding her hand on the subway. Sitting on a bench in the shoe store while she helped him try on a tiny pair of sneakers.

Many of scenes had also involved a man, who, unlike the woman, Johnny was sure he had seen before. He just couldn't place where he would know him from. He was neither thin nor bulky, with a strong jaw, short but thick brown hair, and wrinkles that formed around his warm brown eyes when he smiled.

Sitting between the the man and the woman in the backseat of a taxi. Leaning against the man's side while listening to the woman read aloud from a book. Happily eating an ice-cream come while the woman laughingly scolded, "Richard! Don't buy him sweets before dinner, you'll ruin both your appetites!" To which the man jokingly responded, "It's my night to make dinner. So maybe I've decided ice cream **is** what's for dinner!"

Johnny closed his eyes and sat back in his chair, recalling the many, many scenes in which the woman had been singing.

The soft notes of "Tom's Diner" drifting from the kitchen, where he could just see the woman bringing a pot to boil on the stove. Singing "What Wondrous Love is This" along with the man and another, more elderly couple; her rich contralto voice overpowered them all. Letting her help him into a small windbreaker as she sang under her breath. (Johnny'd never heard that song before, but his brain somehow supplied that it was called "L'chi Lach". He wasn't sure how he know that, though, when he could hardly even identify what language half of it was in.) Feeling her wipe his head with a damp cloth as she crooned a soft, low rendition of "Summertime" that rivaled Ella Fitzgerald. Tucking him into bed at night, lulling him to sleep with "Wer zingt es dort?" which Johnny was once again sure he'd never heard, and was definitely in a language Johnny didn't know. But he somehow understood anyway, his dream-self drifting off with visions of the scenes described in the lyrics: of shepherd girls, cattle herds, distant church bells, and fishermen on a river as the sun set and night fell.

The final scenes had been a bit more eventful.

The man was holding him, the woman by his side, sitting on a chair in what looked to be someone's living room. The elderly couple from the earlier scene, when they all sang "What Wondrous Love is This," were cuddled together on a nearby loveseat.

The man turned to them and spoke. "My new job will be taking me overseas for a few months — and Mary is going with me. Are you sure you'll be able to look after Peter while we're gone?" **Mary must be the woman,** thought Johnny. **But who's Peter?**

"Of course we will, Richard!" exclaimed the old woman.

"You know we already love him like our own," added the old man.

Then it was a few days later, and Johnny was again sandwiched between Richard and Mary in the back of a car, this time with the elderly couple in the front seats. Johnny felt himself start to get antsy, squirming just to move around a little. Mary softly sang another song Johnny shouldn't've found familiar, but somehow did. As her voice slowly grew stronger throughout the first verse of "Katyusha," the man next to him very softly joined in.

Then they were at an airport, and the elderly woman held Johnny close as the man and woman ascended onto the waiting airplane.

"Be a good boy, Peter!" called Richard.

"We'll be back as soon as we can, darling!" called Mary.

The last scene was the only one in which the woman, Mary, was not present. Johnny sat on the floor, playing with colorful blocks, when he heard the elderly man and woman whispering behind him. He turned, and saw the old man's normally round, friendly face twisted into a sorrowful frown, and the old woman's countenance held the same deep despair and concern. The woman rushed over to embrace him, while the man turned away, hunched as though he carried the weight of the world.

"Aunt May? Uncle Ben? What's wrong?" Johnny heard himself ask. He wasn't sure why these words seemed to be coming out of his mouth of their own accord, but he was distracted from that as the old woman held him tighter and tried to hurriedly brush away her tears.

Johnny leaned forward in his chair again, finished recalling the dream but still rather confused. He could not for the life of him figure out who the heck these people were or why last night's dream had felt so vividly important.

He startled a bit as he realized why he'd recognized the man, Richard. He'd looked like an older, slightly brawnier version of that Bugle photographer who took all the photos of Spider-Man. What was his name? Patrick? Parker? Paul? Something like that. Although Paul was undeniably leaner and lankier, with a jaw that wasn't strong like the mysterious Richard's, but would be better described as sharp. Still, despite the differences, there was an extremely strong resemblance between the two.

Why the heck would I be dreaming about Paul's older doppelgänger? I don't even like Paul! Not that Johnny really knew the man all that well. But the few times the two had met, they had found each other mutually annoying. Plus, he made his living by helping the Bugle make Spidey look like a crook, which Johnny absolutely had a problem with.

Well, whatever. It was just a dream; better just forget about it. With that, Johnny finally stood up and headed toward the kitchen to make sure Ben hadn't eaten all his favorite breakfast food before he could have any.

* * *

After some cheap breakfast (and two thwarted muggings and one inept convenience store robbery) Spider-Man swung in through the common-area window, usually left unlocked by the Four to allow him easy access. Ben was on the specially reinforced couch, reading a newspaper.

"They're waitin' fer ya in the lab," he said, barely looking up.

"Thanks," Spidey returned as he made his way down the hall towards the faint sound of Reed powering up the prototype.

As he entered the lab, Peter couldn't help but smile under the mask. Helping Reed and Sue with various projects always made him feel like a kid on Christmas morning.

"Hey, Spider-man," came Sue's warm welcome. "We're almost ready to give it another go, but we haven't had time to calculate the needed electrical power after we adjust for the higher resistance and lower frequency. And we still need to cross-check that new frequency with the range of possible electrical signals in the human brain. Mind getting started on that?"

"Sure, Sue," he replied, hoping his greeting smile came through in his voice. He headed back to his usual desk space in the corner. (The fact that the Fantastic Four had given him his own little space in their amazing lab still blew his mind a little.) He put in his headphones, connected to his MP3 player, and put on "Let It Be" to listen to as he got started with the calculations. He knew Reed hated music in the lab, saying it was too distracting, but Peter found it helped him focus better. It drowned out all the faint miscellaneous city noise that managed to filter in, even despite how far the top of the Baxter Building was from it all. Sometimes, enhanced senses could really get on a guy's nerves.

He'd been working a while, and his poor sleep the night before was actually starting to catch up with him, when Sue and Reed finally got the prototype fully set up and ready to resume testing. Sue chose that moment to announce, "Alright, time for a lunch break."

"But Sue-" Reed and Peter protested in tandem.

"No buts!" she interrupted. "If I don't force you boys to eat before we get started with that actual tests, you two won't break for lunch at all."

Reed's protests were growing weaker by the second. "We could always-"

"Nope. Food. Now. We can get started on this as soon as you two get some actual nourishment in you." And with that, she herded the reluctant scientists out the door and towards the kitchen.

* * *

It was a Sunday, which meant it was Johnny's day to make lunch. For this reason, Johnny hated Sundays. He considered ordering something easy, but didn't want to deal with Sue's disapproval for 'not taking responsibility for his share of the work' or something like that. It wasn't as though he didn't have the time to make something at home today.

So, he made enough turkey sandwiches to feed the Four. Then he remembered Spider-Man would be with them for lunch, and with an eye roll figured he would need nearly double the number of sandwiches. For such a skinny guy, Spidey could sure eat.

He'd just finished putting the last of the sandwiches on a plate when Sue shepherded Reed and Spidey into the kitchen, pulling Ben along with them at the last moment.

Reed, Sue, and Ben settled into their usual places at the kitchen island. Spidey leaned against the counter to eat his. Not that he wasn't welcome to his own place at the island, or didn't want to sit and eat with them; they'd learned long ago that he was just an eat-standing-up kind of person. Johnny usually joined him in standing, just to make sure he didn't seem too isolated.

"So, how are you two today? No unusual side-effects after yesterday, right?" asked Sue.

"Nah, I think I'm fine," answered Johnny. "Spider-Man?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" asked Reed. "You seemed a little tired earlier."

"No, I wasn't," Spider-Man objected.

"I'm pretty sure I saw you doze off for a minute while you were calculating the average theoretical rate of information transfer," Reed countered.

"In my defense, even I think mundane calculations like that are kind of boring."

"Mundane? Seriously?" muttered Johnny, who had almost no idea what they were talking about.

With a tiny sigh, Spider-Man acquiesced. "Okay, so maybe I was a little tired. But I don't think it had anything to do with yesterday; I just had some weird dreams last night, that's all."

"Really?" asked Johnny. "Me too."

Sue narrowed her eyes a bit. "So you both had unusual dreams. Right after you were both exposed to a machine designed to affect human memory. Which is closely related to dreams."

"Ah, it was probably just a coincidence. Probably just means matchstick oughtta lay off the hot sauce before bed," said Ben.

Before anyone could respond, Sue's phone started ringing, with the ringtone usually reserved for non-emergencies that were still high-priority. She answered and listened briefly to the person on the other end.

She turned to Reed. "It's a Congressman with some questions about regulating space travel. This'll only take an hour."

Reed sighed. "Alright. But let's hurry; I'd like to try and get through the final tests on that prototype today." The two of them put their plates in the dishwasher on their way into the other room.

Ben stood and dropped his paper plate in the trash can. "I'm gonna go see if the game's on yet," he said as he lumbered out of the kitchen.

Suddenly alone with Spider-Man, Johnny grabbed the remaining dishes and deposited them in the dishwasher somewhat carelessly, then moved around the island so the two were facing each other. "So, what was it about?" he asked a bit cheekily.

"What was what about?"

"Your dream. Must've been about a pretty awesome chick, if it kept you up all night." Johnny smirked and wiggled his eyebrows.

Peter was grateful for the mask hiding his blush. "No! I mean… kind of, I guess. But nothing like that. It was weird. Super vivid. Actually, you and Sue were in it."

"Aww. You were dreaming about me? Spidey, I'm touched," Johnny said teasingly.

"Actually, it was more like I dreamt I was you. Which, now that I think about it, makes it more of a nightmare than a dream."

"Har de har har. But seriously? You actually dreamt you were me? Like, had my powers, or my spot on the team, or actually looked like me?"

Spider-Man shifted, a little uncomfortable. Telling people about his dreams, especially unusual ones, was always a little awkward for him. But hey, at least he was having this conversation with Johnny, and not someone else. The fact that they were best friends definitely made things easier.

"Actually, I'm kinda not sure. It was more like your life, but as a kid - like elementary school age. There wasn't exactly a mirror or anything, so I don't know if dream-me actually looked like you or not. Though, come to think of it, the voice did kinda sound like a younger version of yours, but distorted a little. Maybe because your voice sounds a little different to you than it does to everybody else. Anyway, the biggest giveaway was that someone referred to me as 'Johnny,' and I was standing next to what looked exactly like a younger version of Sue."

"Huh. That's weird. So what happened?"

"Uh, it started out with this woman. She was washing some berries in the kitchen sink. Actually, I think it was your mother. She looked just like you. And she was singing along with the radio. Some Brazilian folk song. Nesta Rua, I think."

Johnny was starting to shift a little, squinting his eyes the way he did when he was suspicious or trying to figure something out. He settled back on his elbows in an effort to appear more nonchalant and asked, "Then what?"

Peter sensed the slight change in Johnny's mood, though he had no idea why hearing about this dream was making him react that way. "I was just standing in the doorway, listening. And then a man came in and kissed her and asked, 'Why do you always listen to this station, darling? You don't even understand the words.' And the woman said, 'I understand the feeling. I understand enough to know that the music is beautiful.' And then the man said, 'Not as beautiful as you.' And then the scene changed. It was all pretty ordinary, domestic kind of stuff. The woman, in particular, seemed really nice. She just had this caring…" He paused to think of the right word. "...warmth, about her. I dunno. It was a pretty nice dream all around. Just weird, since it was super vivid."

As Spider-Man had been talking, Johnny had slowly been leaning further and further forward, his eyes narrowing even more. "Okay, this is too weird. I need you to tell me the whole dream. Start over, and go straight through to the very end. With as much detail as you can remember."

Peter was somewhat taken aback at this response. He subconsciously leaned back against the counter, away from Johnny's startling newfound intensity. "Oh-kay… Well, like I said, it started out with…"

And Peter told the whole story, granting Johnny's request for as many details as possible. The longer he spoke, the more perturbed and intense Johnny's expression and body language grew. It was definitely starting to weird Peter out a little.

At last, once he finished retelling the dream, he asked, "Dude, are you okay? You're looking, like, intensely unsettled about all this. What's wrong?"

Johnny shook his head a little. "That was way too accurate to be a coincidence. That first part of the dream sounds exactly like one day from when I was back in first grade. Just one of those little memories that aren't really that important, but for some reason they stick in your head really clearly, y'know?"

Spider-Man's head shot forward as he straightened up. "Oh. Oh. A memory . Oh. I was not expecting that. Yeah, we should probably tell Reed and Sue about this, once they get back out here. It didn't even occur to me that that was a possibility. But it does make sense."

"Dude, what are you talking about?" Johnny asked, definitely confused, but glad that at least Spidey seemed to have figured out what was up.

"Okay, so when I tackled you yesterday, there was a point where we were both in physical contact with each other and the wires of the prototype. I think it might have transferred memories from your brain into my brain. Or maybe not transferred, since it seems like you still have those memories too, but like… shared them with me, I guess? And I didn't notice until I went to sleep that night, since dreams are when your brain processes the new memories it made that day."

Johnny paused for a moment to consider this explanation. "Oh. So do you think it was just those memories, or…" he trailed off.

"I don't know. I guess we'll have to wait and see. We're definitely gonna have to run a couple tests, to make sure that's all that happened."

"Yeah, okay. I guess that's reasonable." Johnny got quiet for a minute, as though he had something he wanted to say, but wasn't quite sure he should. Finally, he quietly said, "That second memory… that was the night of the accident. When Mom died."

Peter froze. "...Oh. I'm sorry." And Johnny understood what he meant. This wasn't I'm sorry this tragedy happened to you. This was I'm sorry I intruded on a private moment. Something that should have been sacred, something you didn't want me to see.

Johnny shook his head. "No, it's okay. You're my best friend; I can trust you with something like that. Right?"

"Of course." After that unusually serious moment, the two settled into a somewhat comfortable silence to think. Until Spider-Man broke it with uncharacteristic timidity in his voice. "You said you had unusual dreams, too. Do you think they might've been some of my memories?"

"Oh. Yeah. Probably." He took a moment to consider how to explain it. "But it wasn't like mine, with two long, detailed memories. It was more like a bunch of little snippets of memory. And they were from when you were pretty young; you couldn't have been any older than five in the last one. Most were from when you were a toddler. Or even younger than that." He tried to give a comprehensive list of all the memories he'd seen. He paused in his recounting when he reached the part about mysteriously understanding songs in languages that clearly were not English.

"Yeah, that makes sense. You may not have understood them, but I did. And since you were hearing it through my memory, you got the meaning, too," explained Spider-Man.

"Dude, I could barely even identify half those languages, and you're telling me you actually speak all of them?" Johnny sounded incredulous. "How the hell did I not know this about you?"

Spidey chuckled. "I'm not actually fluent in any of them, no. And I haven't spent much time speaking anything other than English for so long, even what I did know is pretty rusty. But my mom was originally a translator, as well as a data analyst. She and my dad both liked studying languages, both could technically be considered hyperpolyglots, and I guess I just picked up on a lot of that. Plus, Dad was Jewish, and Mom converted when she married him, so they thought it was important for our family to know at least some Hebrew. And we used a lot of Yiddish around the house. But Mom was Catholic before she she met Dad, so she taught me a good amount of Latin, too. And once you know Latin, you're basically halfway to understanding all the Romance languages. Actually, that's how I was sort of able to sort-of translate the song from your memory. Well, that and this one Brazilian neighbor I used to play with a lot when I was between the ages of six and ten."

Johnny tilted his head in slight wonderment. "Huh. You learn something new every day, I guess. Anyway…" he continued on with his list of memories. When he finished the last scenes, he saw Spidey's posture shift a bit, as he slouched forward a bit more.

"So, the young man and woman, Richard and Mary, those were your parents?" asked Johnny. Spidey nodded. "And the elderly couple were your aunt and uncle?" Spidey nodded again.

"Uncle Ben was my dad's brother. They raised me from the time I was five onwards."

"Oh. So in the last memory, where your aunt was crying…"

"They'd just read in the newspaper that my parents had been killed in a plane crash on their way home, and there was evidence that suggested they had betrayed the US. But I did some digging on that later, because I just couldn't believe that. Turns out they were CIA, acting as double agents in the Red Skull's organization. Except someone found them out, so Red Skull has the Finisher sabotage their plane."

"Oh." Johnny had no idea how to respond to that. They again lapsed into semi-comfortable silence, both deep in thought.

Johnny once again leaned back down on his elbows. So, the man called Spidey Peter. I actually know Spider-Man's first name now. Except he didn't mean to tell me. Should I bring it up, or just try to forget about it? He was still weighing his options when a small, previously occupied part of his brain chimed in. Oh yeah! That's also that Bugle photographer's name! Not Paul! It's Peter! Peter Parker!

And with a gasp, Johnny froze. Peter Parker. Who happens to have the same first name as Spider-Man. And looks almost exactly like Spider-Man's father. And who always just so happens to be around to take photos whenever something happens and Spider-Man has to help.

No way. **No way.**

"No. Way . " Johnny breathed out quietly through gritted teeth. "There is. No. Way ."

Spider-Man - no, Peter - was growing increasingly concerned at his behavior. "Uh, Johnny…? What is it?" he asked, bracing himself for the answer. "There's no way what?"

Johnny's eyes finally locked on his through the mask. "Peter. As in, Peter Parker. You're Peter Parker . You can not be serious . All this time, my best friend has been Peter Parker. " And finally Johnny stood up straight, taking a step in Peter's direction. Peter, meanwhile, looked like he was trying to curl in on himself and disappear.

"But… But… then why do you sell the Bugle all those pictures so they can make you look bad!? That doesn't make any sense!"

"A guy's gotta make a living somehow," Peter mumbled.

"And. You two are so different! Parker's always so much… quieter. I could never tell if he was just shy, or awkward, or kind of stuck up. And you're totally not quiet like that. At all. Ever. So how on Earth can you be the same person!?" There were a million tiny details that Johnny found himself completely incapable of reconciling between the two. He'd never seen Parker eat a meal standing up, like Spidey preferred to. Parker didn't move with the same obvious grace that Spidey did, or have the same toned muscles. Heck, their voices didn't even sound exactly the same.

But then again, the mask had a way of muffling Spidey's voice that disguised it a bit; whenever he pulled it up away from his mouth, he actually did sound a lot more like Peter, even having the same Queens accent. Not to mention revealing the same sharp jawline. And Peter always wore clothes that could easily hide Spider-Man's muscular figure. And Peter just moving like a normal human could definitely disguise his usual graceful movements. And… oh gods, the two really were one and the same.

Johnny couldn't help it; he started to laugh a little.

Now Peter was hopelessly confused. "Um, what's so funny?"

Johnny took a deep breath. "Nothing. Just me feeling like an idiot for not figuring it out sooner. Jeez, this whole thing's been kind of an emotional roller-coaster."

The eyes of Peter's mask narrowed a bit. "So, you're not… upset? That it's me?"

"Nah. At this point, I think I'm mostly just exasperated. So, do I get to see you without the mask now?" He gave Peter what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

Peter slowly reached up and hooked his finger under the bottom of his mask. He was about to lift it, when he caught sight of Sue and Reed finally returning so they could resume testing on the prototype. He let the mask settle back into place. "Rain check," he said, gesturing towards them. "Just 'cause you know who I am now, doesn't mean I really want to tell your whole family just yet."

"Spider-Man," called Sue, "we're ready now." She stopped just inside the kitchen, noting the odd posture Spidey and Johnny each had, and the unusual looks they were giving each other. "What's going on in here?"

Finally, Johnny turned to her. "I think we found a side-effect of the incident with the prototype yesterday."

"It's kind of an unexpected one," added Spider-Man.

"Yeah," agreed Johnny. "But really, it's no weirder than anything else that happens around here. We'll fill you in on the way back to the lab." And with that, they all turned and filed back down the hallway.


End file.
